Breanna Choma

Veteran Poet - 1,395 Points (12/05/1997)

Row By Row

Day by day, crosses and graves stones lay..
Row by row we all gather..
When they go we get sad then grow sadder...
When they all fall we no longer stand tall...
Why did I stay?
That should have been me, don't you see?
I might as well be a flea..
He was loved, he was a hero, some one who could never be a zero...
With each gun fire his honor seemed higher..

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